


The Sounds of Family

by HeartshapedMusicBox



Series: Stand by you forever - a one shot collection [4]
Category: Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/F, Synesthesia, a little bit of heartache and anxiety, family future au, just a little cutesy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 12:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10571772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartshapedMusicBox/pseuds/HeartshapedMusicBox
Summary: You never confess to anyone just how much you wish she could hear your voice just once, that you could tell her out loud just how much you love her and sing her the song you wrote her before she was born, the song no one has ever heard or even knows about, not even Karlie.





	

It starts with a quiver.

A tiny little quiver that becomes this smothering force creeping up on you as you stand there with the baby in your arms, this tiny new life grunting quietly at you, and you take two shaky steps backwards until you crash into the table, holding on to that little life as hard as you can.

“KARLIE,” you manage to yell out and she comes running through the door so quickly you almost wonder if she was standing right outside the door this entire time, just waiting for this moment to happen.

“Take the baby,” you say, “take her, I just, no, take her, please, I can’t do this.” The words come running out of your mouth so quickly they tumble into each other, forming sounds that are unintelligible even to your own ears, but it doesn’t matter. She takes the baby from you just as your knees give out from under you and you slide to the floor, landing with a soft thump on the carpet that you barely register before the world goes black.

***

You wake up tucked into your own bed with a warm and fluffy cat by your side. 

From the next room you can hear Karlie cooing quietly to the baby. You feel an instant stab of jealousy that is quickly washed away by the enormous wave of sorrow that washes over you. Your wife is the baby whisperer, and all you are is a failure.

Tears paint invisible rivers on your cheeks as you wonder what you did for this to happen, and a loud sob escapes you.

It doesn’t take long before Karlie crawls into bed next to you, wrapping her impossibly long arms around you and holding you tight. “Darling,” she whispers, “talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

For the longest time, you can’t. All you do is breathe in her familiar scent and try to stop the tears from coming, but it seems impossible. At last you manage to stop shaking enough to find your voice. “I’ve failed you,” you sob, “I made us a defective baby.”

“What?” she says, her hand softly stroking your back, calming you down, “no, sweetie, don’t think like that. She’s perfect, just like her mom.”

“But she can’t hear,” you wail. Saying the words out loud just makes you feel worse, like you willingly twisted the knife the doctors left in your heart earlier that same morning. 

“I will admit it is all a little ironic,” Karlie says, trying to make light of the situation, “but Tay, it doesn’t matter. We’ll learn sign language. Maybe she can even get one of those cochlear implants that transmit the sound for her.”

“What if she doesn’t qualify,” you mutter gruffly into her chest.

“Then she doesn’t qualify.” She kisses you softly on the forehead. “We will love her regardless. It’s not the end of the world.”

No. It just feels like it.

***

By the time they tell you Maddie doesn’t qualify for an implant, she’s an active toddler with blonde curls, clear blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Your heart breaks all over again when they give you the news, but between Karlie’s soothing voice and Maddie’s sloppy kisses, you manage to glue it back together again.

“I wanted to teach her piano,” you tell Karlie one morning, “I was just waiting for them to give us good news.”

She walks up behind you and gives you a hug, whispering encouraging words into your ear. “You have many other talents outside of music,” she reminds you, “I’m sure you can teach her something else.”

You buy her a paint set the very next day.

***

Your daughter proves to be an eager student, with talent surpassing your own. She finishes painting after painting that you put up all over the house, letting her art fill the air with silent, colorful songs, just like your loud music once filled the air in your parents’ house.

She thrives, never once letting her lack of hearing prevent her from following her dreams, but when her little brother Michael asks to learn how to play the guitar, that feeling of guilt comes rushing back to you because you feel like you’ve unintentionally limited her. You never confess to anyone just how much you wish she could hear your voice just once, that you could tell her out loud just how much you love her and sing her the song you wrote her before she was born, the song no one has ever heard or even knows about, not even Karlie. 

***

She’s seventeen when she finds you in your library one evening, looking at pictures of the three of you when she was a baby. She brings you downstairs to the art studio you had built for her when she started high school, but stops you right outside the door.

“Mama,” she signs, “I know you’ve always blamed yourself for my lack of hearing.” She shakes her head at you when you bring up your hands to start signing an explanation, and continues with her own signing. “Mom told me you once apologized for making a defective baby.” 

Your heart starts racing as you mutter something you never thought you’d say about her mother, but she puts a hand gently on your arm and smiles at you. 

“Don’t be upset with mom – I asked her for the truth and she gave it to me. You mask things so well sometimes, and I know you think this is your fault, that you’re sad because I can’t enjoy the thing that’s such a crucial part of your life.” She pauses and takes your hand, leading you into her little studio.

She doesn’t pick up the conversation right away, but lets you walks around the room uninterrupted for a moment. 

“These are beautiful,” you tell her as your eyes dart from one abstract, colorful painting to another.

“They’re for my art project,” she lets you know, “they’re called the Sounds of Family.”

She smiles at you and you can see the excitement in her eyes. “The Sounds of Family?” you ask, “Explain.” 

“You’ve always been sad because I can’t hear your voice, but I can in a way. When you talk, I can feel the vibration it leaves in the air around me and it translates into color.” She walks over to a painting made with shades of lilacs and pinks. “See this? This is what you sound like to me - when you’re happy and excited, your voice is like a clear pink. When you flirt with mom and think I don’t know about it, it’s a deep burgundy, and when you’re sad, your words come out as lavender. And this,” she points to one with deep greens and greys, “this is Mike, and this,” she picks a third one up from the floor, filled with yellows and reds, “this is mom.”

She smiles hopefully at you as you stand there with your mouth open. “I had no idea,” you sign, feeling shocked and a little relieved at the same time. 

“I know,” she nods and blushes a little. “My teacher wants to exhibit them at the talent fair next month, so don’t tell mom because I want it to be a surprise. I just knew I had to show you now, show you that you don’t have to feel sad and guilty anymore, because I can hear you, it’s just not the same way you do.”

You embrace your daughter and hold her tight, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. As you stand there, you hear the words Karlie told you seventeen years ago. “It’s not the end of the world.”

No. It really isn’t.


End file.
